


Forgive Me

by smts0529



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 18:21:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9454409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smts0529/pseuds/smts0529
Summary: 'I was grieving John. The fact that I would never have him. The fact that I would never wake up with him next to me, nor feel his soft lips against mine..'





	

Cigarettes, beverage, and pen on the left side. Glasses on the right. Victim seems to be in her late twenties- no, early twenties.

This woman is a chain smoker. Blood spot is approximately three feet off the ground, and her arm is contorted in such a way that would make the blood go in a different direction. Cigarette still in left hand, gun in right. The woman is clearly left handed and the fact that she's holding the cigarette in her right despite a gunshot wound to the head clearly indicates that this is a murder.

 

I sighed and abruptly walked out of the room, declaring that this was in fact a murder scene. This was too easy. Elementary, even. The fact that Lestrade requested my help for such a rudimentary case just showed now downhill Scotland Yard has truly gone. I hailed a cab and got in. I immediately took out my phone and sent a text to John, telling him that I was on my way back to Baker Street. He promptly replied, saying that he was out on a date with some woman. He would be home before midnight.

 

A pressure began to take over my chest. It felt as if there were bricks being piled upon it; like my chest was slowly caving in. It burned, but not in the way you would expect. The burn was if I had inhaled a bottle of lighter fluid and chased it down with a match. A wetness began to form in my eyes, in addition to everything else. Crying. That is what I was doing. I saw crying as a sign of weakness, a sign of giving up. It was only for the feeble-minded who couldn't control their emotions.

 

Soon after I got back to Baker Street and walked through the front door. I looked around at everything, taking in every tiny detail. The collection of dust on the mantle. Papers that littered the walls. Thumbtack holes from said papers. Stains on the sitting couch. Scratches on the wood floor. Countless experiments on the kitchen table. Spills and stains from said experiments. _I was truly going to miss this._  


 

In a matter of seconds, I made the short journey to my bedroom and closed the door, sitting on my bed. I laid down on the clean sheets and inhaled deeply. John always did the laundry, so the sheets smelled like him. Like home. _What I had been wanting and needing my whole life._  


 

In my bedside drawer, there was a syringe and a bottle of my drug of choice, the 7% solution. I thought about the needle. How easily I picked it up, the effortlessness of injecting the drugs into my bloodstream. It was my guilty pleasure. _At least I would die doing what I loved._  


 

After a bit of hesitation, I reached into my bedside drawer and took out the syringe and the cobalt blue bottle. I stuck the end of the needle into the bottle, and withdrew perhaps a little too much of my solution. _This would definitely be enough to get the job done._  


 

Sitting on my bed, I looked at the drug and began to cry. It was a deep sob that you only cried when you were grieving.

 

I was grieving John. The fact that I would never have him. The fact that I would never wake up with him next to me, nor feel his soft lips against mine.

 

I plunged the syringe in my vein and collapsed against my bed. Visions of John were all that I saw behind my closed eyes. I thought about the simple things- tea on a Sunday morning. Making breakfast together. His complaining when one of my experiments went too far.

 

Consciousness was slipping away from me. The sweet release of death was so close that I could smell it. I took one last deep breath, but stopped mid-exhale because I heard a voice. Screaming, begging. It was John.

 

_**"Sherlock!"** _

**Author's Note:**

> I'm baaaaack ;)


End file.
